‘Who’s asking?’ a voice shouted back.
Time for some brash arrogance, I thought. ‘What rank are you, man?’
‘Optio,’ he called back.
‘I am Gnaeus Junius Silvanus,’ having invented the name during my ride over, ‘tribune and second in command of the First Italica, with a vital message for General Rufus. Now open this bloody door or I’ll have you broken to the ranks!’
The optio was quick to try and put right his mistake. ‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir.’ The gate creaked open. I urged my horse on, keeping an eye out for someone in authority who would know where the general was.
I saw a centurion a few paces ahead, easy to spot because their plumes go across the helmet rather than down it, like mine.
‘Centurion, where can I find the general?’
He peered up at me, a quizzical look on his face. ‘Which general are you wanting, sir? All the legion commanders should be in camp.’
Impatiently, I answered. ‘The governor, General Rufus, of course!’
‘The big crimson tent, slap bang in the middle of the compound, sir. Can’t miss it.’
I nodded my thanks, and headed off. As he said, it wasn’t difficult to find. A man with several legions to call upon can’t reside in a shabby tent. However, the guards told me that he was inspecting the artillery, and pointed north towards the city.
It was another ten minutes or so before I actually found the general. He was talking with a squat-looking man at the foot of a powerful onager, so called because its action resembled the kick of a donkey. Thankfully, there was no one else around, they were all too busy with the siege equipment.
‘General Rufus, sir?’ I was confident he was the man I was looking for. He wore a fine breastplate with the emblem of a fox engraved upon it, and a red cloak coloured with the very best dyes. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, but nonetheless was tough and lean, with a head of closely cropped grey hair.
‘Yes, what do you want?’
‘I am a tribune with the First Italica, sir, and I bring an urgent message.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said tersely. ‘And…?’
I tried to look embarrassed, and made an obvious glance towards the other man.
He understood. ‘Please leave us,’ said the general, ‘and you may start the artillery assault when you’re ready.’ He turned to me. ‘Now we can have some privacy. By the way, haven’t you learned to dismount when addressing a senior officer, or don’t they teach you manners in the First?’
I was unwilling to dismount as I wanted a quick getaway should the general not take kindly to my proposal. However, I couldn’t disobey him; after all, he was not only a general but also an ex-consul.
I slung myself out of the saddle, and looked him in the eye. My voice kept down low, I said: ‘I bring a message from Sulpicius Galba, General.’
He froze, his grey eyes widening. ‘You come from Galba?’
‘Directly from Hispania, sir.’
‘Then you’re not from the First at all?’ he asked.
‘No, sir, I needed to speak with you in private.’
He chuckled at that, and my feverish heart began to settle. He didn’t seem as though he was about to call his guards and lock me up.
‘It would make things a lot easier, General,’ I said tentatively, ‘if I knew where you stood in terms of the political situation.’
It was his turn to look nervous now, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one could overhear our conversation.
‘It’s not that I disapprove of Galba, but the constitutional matter worries me. Nero, for all his faults, is a Caesar, and Galba is not. I could not support anyone who simply wishes to snatch the purple for their own ends.’
‘Nor do I,’ I hastened to add.
‘However,’ Rufus continued, ‘I will not leave Roman citizens unprotected from a Gallic insurrection.’
‘But it’s not a rebellion! Vindex simply got carried away. He wants to see the back of Nero, and the idea was to show the people of Rome that there is significant support for… an alternative. There is no question of civil war, unless you want there to be.’
He blanched at that. Rome does not have a good history when it comes to civil wars, and it seemed that Verginius Rufus was not the type of man to start one willingly.
I continued, ‘Though I am in Galba’s confidence, would you be willing to meet with Governor Vindex tonight and discuss the matter?’
‘He’s here?’
‘And his army with him.’
He seemed to mull this over for a while. ‘Where?’
‘There’s a small village five miles south-west of here, near the river. In one of the fields nearby there’s an old oak. There, at midnight, and you can bring one man that you can trust, to meet Vindex and myself.’
I put out my hand. ‘Agreed?’
He took it. ‘Agreed.’
* * *
It rained heavily that night. Actually, that was an understatement. Imagine, if you will, a set of Olympian baths up in the heavens, with the gods relaxing and talking of heady, divine matters. Now imagine the floor falling out of these baths, and you might be able to understand what it was like. Despite standing under the protecting boughs of the old oak when the heavens opened, we were drenched to the skin in a matter of minutes. I held a torch aloft, which stayed alight in the downpour only because the rags had been soaked in oil.
Using my free hand I pulled the hood of my travelling cloak further over my head. Vindex had not taken the same precaution. He was a sorry sight. He had donned his finest gear for the occasion, only to have his military image somewhat spoiled. His brush-like hair was matted, though some clumps were still bearing up against the deluge. His leather breastplate was completely sodden, but nonetheless he sat bolt upright in the saddle, not complaining for a moment.
‘Do you think he will come?’ he asked.
‘I think he’s unlikely to miss a meeting that will determine the future of Rome just because of a spot of rain.’
As if to undermine my point, one of Jupiter’s thunderbolts flashed through the sky. For a split second, I thought that I saw two horsemen coming down the crest of a hill to the east of us. Then they were gone. There was a crash of thunder, and our skittish horses tried to turn and gallop away, but we managed to keep them under control.
The sound of hoofbeats drumming into the sodden earth could just be heard over the lashing of the rain, and in the dark I could make out two shrouded figures on horseback. They reined in a few paces ahead of us, and the leading one pulled his hood back a fraction, enough so that we could see his face without him getting drenched like Vindex. The other man did the same. He had a large, hawk-like nose that cast a shadow over his face, and he stayed behind his general.
‘This is Fabius Valens,’ the general began, ‘legate of the First Germanica. He is here as a representative of Lower Germania. Now, I hope what you have to say is worth that horrendous ride.’
I decided to get straight to the point. ‘I take it your presence here means that you would rather Nero was no longer emperor.’
‘Yes, he’s tarnished Rome’s image almost beyond repair. But I will not support a coup. It has to be constitutional, or my legions will stay loyal to him. I want no part in the sordid plots of an ambitious man.’
‘That is precisely why it must be Galba and no one else,’ I reassured him. ‘Galba is an old man, he couldn’t last more than another five years, and he has no sons to pass the purple on to. That is why he is still in Hispania, waiting for the Senate to ratify him and cast out that perfumed fool. Do you know what happened in Tarraco only this month?’
‘What?’ asked the general.
‘His troops saluted him as emperor, and he refused the title. He renounced any desire to force a ruler upon Rome’s citizens. Instead, he’s calling himself “Legate of the Senate and People of Rome”. Now he’s just waiting to see if he is called upon by that same Senate and people to serve.’
Rufus se
emed to be nodding his approval, and then he turned in the saddle to face Vindex.
‘May I ask, Governor, did Galba approach you, or was it the other way around?’
Vindex, sopping wet, made an effort to look dignified. ‘I wrote to Galba early this year suggesting that he put himself forward as an alternative to Nero, and that I would back him to the hilt.’
Inside, I was elated. Vindex may have been a proud, stubborn fool, but at least his motives were honest, and this information seemed to impress Rufus no end. Valens I was not so sure about. I can’t begin to describe the tension there was that night. Four men, two of whom were almost mute spectators, were making history beneath a sodden oak tree in a wild corner of Gaul. Of course, Rufus was a self-professed constitutionalist, and his fears and wariness of any man bold enough to want to take the empire from the Caesar dynasty had to be allayed. But I did not foresee any other obstacles, at least not yet.
‘So, what is the incentive for betraying my emperor?’ Rufus enquired, offhand as you like.
‘Other than the wellbeing of the empire, of course?’ I responded.
‘Of course,’ he added hastily.
‘Strictly speaking, I do not have the authority to make any specific promises. However, if you decide to help us, you will have gained a very powerful friend in Rome. What more could a man want who has already been consul and held one of the most prestigious commands?’
‘I hadn’t really considered.’
‘Well, I should be reporting to Galba at some point soon, so this is the time to make any demands…’ Perhaps not the right word, I thought. ‘Or rather, suggestions.’
I left the offer hanging there, and Rufus took his time. After all, it isn’t every day that you are asked to name your price for a comparatively simple favour, except perhaps in the moral sense.
At length Rufus made his ‘suggestion’. ‘I have always wanted to see the East. I reckon that, as one of Rome’s more senior generals, command on the Parthian frontier might be a… a fitting role.’
I grinned. ‘Parthia it is, or at least I shall recommend as much to Galba when I see him.’
‘When will that be?’
This question came from Vindex, whose head had whipped round at the allusion to my leaving for Hispania.
‘When the matter of Vesontio is settled, I think the governor here will manage perfectly well without me, won’t you, sir?’ The sarcasm was almost imperceptible, and thankfully over the heads of the other two, but I saw Vindex’s nostrils flare at that, as though there were a foul stench under his nose.
I continued. ‘I would suggest that you, General, break off the siege, and try to convince the men that Galba will smile upon the legions that helped him to oust Nero. At the very least try and secure some sort of agreement for non-intervention. Meanwhile, the governor’s army will relieve Vesontio once you have gone, and retain the rebellion’s credibility.’
‘I take it that you intend to make a career in politics, young man?’
‘Only once we have an emperor worthy of Rome,’ I answered.
‘So if I were to ask you which comes first, loyalty to Galba or to yourself, you expect me to believe that you’d choose Galba?’
‘I didn’t beg and scrape for this job, if that’s what you mean, sir. Galba actually sent for me and asked me to serve before I’d even heard that there was a conspiracy.’
I could just make out his eyes narrowing, as if he was trying to see through me and detect whether or not I was telling the truth. Evidently he must have decided that I was fairly trustworthy, for he nudged his horse forward and put out his hand. I jerked my head in Vindex’s direction. Rufus was quick to realize the snub that he had just given, and hastily turned in the saddle to shake Vindex’s hand, while I gave my aching arm a rest by switching the torch to my right hand, at the same time making it impossible for Rufus to shake my hand next. I hoped to placate Vindex in this way, since I had rather dominated the negotiations, while he had sat stiffly in the rain.
‘I shall speak to my officers first, and then the legions an hour after dawn. We will probably head north, back to the Rhine.’
‘Does that mean that we can get out of this bloody rain and back to camp, then?’ asked Valens.
Wearily, the general replied, ‘Yes, Valens, it does. Gentlemen, I hope we shall meet again when all the politics is over. Until then…’ and they wheeled away, leaving the sodden Vindex and me alone again beneath the sheltering tree.
Saying nothing, Vindex gave a tug at his reins and began the journey back to our own camp. We plodded onwards into the darkness, as the torch’s flame began to flag, flicker and die. I cast the remaining stump aside, and guided my horse directly alongside the governor’s. From what I could make out, he looked very sullen, with a scowl fixed on his face.
I could have left well alone, but instead tried to coax some conversation from him.
‘The negotiations went well, I thought,’ I began.
Nothing.
‘And Rufus seemed a decent man.’
That sparked him into life. ‘Oh yes, you and he were having a pleasant little chat, weren’t you? Never mind me, who’s actually meant to be in charge of this whole affair. I could have just gone to bed this evening and stayed there, for all my input was worth!’
‘That’s not fair, Governor; neither of us could have gone on our own, could we? If it had been just me, why would he have even begun to believe that I was telling the truth? I could have been anybody, for all he knew. Having you here showed him how serious and advanced the Galba campaign is. And if I hadn’t been there, he would have seen the leader of a Gallic rebellion, and not a leading member of Roman society, as we know you to be. You see, we need each other for this to work.’
Vindex still did not seem content.
‘It’s because I’m a Gaul, isn’t it? If I had been born a full Roman, then I could have been gossiping away with him, and would be trusted. By the gods, I’m a senator of Rome, aren’t I? Why shouldn’t my fellow senator trust me?’
I sighed. He was naive beyond words.
‘That’s the way it is, Governor. The Roman Senate are snobs, everyone knows that. Why do you think it’s the patricians who have the best positions? In most cases, ancestry and patronage count far more than talent. Even Cicero found it difficult to become a consul, despite being the best orator the world has ever seen, just because he was a new man.’
‘But I’m not trying to be consul! All I want is to lead my army tomorrow, my day of glory. After all, I’ve stuck my neck out for Galba, without expecting a great deal in return. The days when the Gauls fought against other tribes and the Romans are long gone, and how else can I win glory for my name and family? As you say, I won’t be able to do it in Rome, so that leaves only the battlefield. I raise the first Gallic army since Vercingetorix, only to hear that the Roman army is going to pack up and leave before we reach Vesontio.’
The poor man. He did so want his shot at glory, but politics and my desire to save lives had denied him the chance to prove himself as valiant as his barbaric ancestors. Then it struck me.
‘But that is your triumph! Don’t you see?’
He looked quizzically at me. ‘No.’
‘When was the last time you heard of a Roman army that ran away from a barbarian one?’ I asked.
There was a lengthy pause as we both racked our brains. Romans had certainly lost against barbarians before – think of Varus’s disaster in the Teutoburg Forest – but I couldn’t remember a time when we had run away from barbarians without giving battle. Fabius Maximus Cunctator had done it against Hannibal, but that was over two hundred years ago.
‘Precisely! You will lead an army of almost thirty thousand Gauls against some of Rome’s finest legions, and the Romans retreat in terror back to their strongholds on the Rhine. You will go down in history, I can guarantee it.’
Vindex considered this, and a ghost of a smile appeared momentarily, before he returned to his stock expression of a scowl.
Another few minutes of silence followed, before we could just make out the dim glow of the camp fires on the hill ahead. We slowed our horses to a gentle trot, and approached the rather feeble-looking palisade that our army had built.
‘Who goes there!’ a voice shouted. Well, at least someone on duty was awake, I thought.
‘Julius Vindex and his nephew Gnaeus,’ the governor called back.
‘Governor? Why are you out so late?’ the sentry asked.
‘Mind your own bloody business and let us in!’ I shouted. The gates duly opened and we urged our horses inside. It was raining as hard as ever, and as we dismounted Vindex turned to me and said, ‘How about coming to my tent to celebrate? I’ve got some excellent wine from Tolosa with me.’
I wasn’t sure. ‘Given that we have to be up in a few hours for the march, don’t you think that getting drunk now might not be a good idea?’
‘Just one cup? It’ll be better than that muck you had in the taverns back in Vienne.’
This was true. I hadn’t had any proper wine for weeks, and they say the wine of Tolosa is better than anything produced in Italia.
‘All right, just one cup, then,’ I said. A relieved smile broke his usually dour expression, and putting his arm on my back, he guided me towards his grand tent while an attendant took care of the sodden horses.
I was very glad to get out of the rain, and once inside the tent I flung off my sopping cloak. Vindex strode over towards his great table, where two cups of wine stood already poured, and a third empty one was set aside. This was a great deal more efficient and organized than Vindex usually was.
He picked up both the cups and proffered the one which had been standing on my side of the table, and I gratefully took it, indulgently wafting the glorious scent up towards my nose. It did indeed smell wonderful, and the deep red nectar looked splendidly inviting.
The Last Caesar Page 13
